


Pay it Forward

by amongthieves



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dream Sequences, M/M, Not 2018 Modern but Definitely in the Past 30 Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: Modern hospital!AU where Eugene is a nurse in the cancer ward and Edward attends his mother's chemo treatment.





	Pay it Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cferre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cferre/gifts).



> This feels like an unfinished vignette that could go so much further if I had the time and/or energy to follow up on it. I wanted to challenge myself in writing something longer than my average 2k and I wanted to try building a relationship, so this is what we get. I hope you enjoy it, or at least get some sort of joy out of reading it. I'm sorry to pick such a depressing subject, ugh.

Eugene Roe wakes with a start, his chest heaving as he struggles for breath. His alarm is wailing, 5:08am flashing red in dashed analog numbers. He slams the snooze button and pushes the sheets back, his shirt slick with sweat. He yanks it off and throws it to the floor as he gets up, stumbling for the shower as he rubs at his chest with his palm. 

The apartment is bare, save for some cheap furniture. The kitchen table and its lonely single chair. The coffee table, littered with  coffee mugs that have yet to make their way to the sink. The single misplaced light blue rug in the middle of his living room because his mother insisted it adds colour to the room. It sure does. Ace cries from the kitchen for her morning kibble.

Rain taps against the window.

Eugene stands under the water with his eyes squeezed shut, letting it rise him from his state of perpetual exhaustion. He stirs the tiniest of bits and with a quick shampoo and soap, steps out and towels off. 

As he stands in his bedroom once again, deciding on which pair of black scrubs to bring to work, he looks at the dead plants on his windowsill — an era of an ex long gone. He can’t even remember what they used to be, other than dried soil and some wilted husk of a plant . With a heavy sigh, he picks up the plastic pots and throws them into the garbage. Before he heads out, he gives his favourite and only black cat a set of good pets (and one belly rub for good measure) before he feeds her, gets dressed, and grabs his bag.

The bus ride is an uneventful, as usual, as Eugene notes that the bakery in the brick building they pass by every time has opened early for the day. He leans back in his seat, watching the street ready itself for the morning; people at bus stops, dog walkers out before the sun rises, lights outside of apartments flickering on. He considers himself lucky, working the day shift, while his other co-workers deal with the evening sessions. Not that Eugene doesn’t find small joys in the evening shifts, he just enjoys the stillness of the morning.

Even in the hospital as he passes by the small coffee stop near the lobby, the baristas probably don’t recognize his face (even though he’s been here for three years), people move slowly. As though they’re too afraid to be too loud in the early hours of the day. Though, it doesn’t matter. Hospitals hardly exist within time, within hours of the day. Three o’clock in the afternoon could be the same as way three o’clock in the morning is. The simple truth is that people don’t like hospitals, and Eugene feels indifferent to the sterile emotions that surround him. He tries to make it a little bit more bearable, but he’s no wise cracking funny guy. 

In the locker room, Eugene presses his back into his own locker, pulling out a set of dark blue scrubs. He hears the door open and out the corner of his eye, Webster rushes to his locker and opens it with a fast jerk. Keeping an eye on him, Eugene still manages to change, and by the time he’s in his full set of scrubs, Webster hasn’t moved.

“Hey, Web. You alright there?” 

Webster slams the locker door and it echoes through the empty change room. There’s dark circles under Webster’s eyes, and Eugene immediately recognizes the face of tough night. 

“I’m in the chemo ward today if you want to vent.”

“Yeah. Alright.” Webster shrugs his shoulders before he slams the locker with his fist, leaning his forehead against a locker. Eugene stops beside him him, patting his shoulder in the most awkward yet comforting way he can manage. 

He looks at his watch - 6:28am. 

The day starts.

In the halls, he doesn’t see any completely recognizable faces. St. Anthony Hospital is larger than where he used to work in Louisiana, and sometimes he still finds himself getting lost in empty corridors, holding a pile of soiled towels. He knows that the smokers hang out in the back, as it’s the only place they can get away with a smoke without being judged by patients, and Eugene occasionally hangs around Renée, his favourite ER doctor. 

“Mornin’, Doc.”

“You really got to stop calling me Doc. That’s your job.” Eugene looks over his shoulder to see Dr. Lewis Nixon walking up beside him, the largest cup size the coffee shop carries in his right hand. 

“You really should try for med school again. I think you’d make a great oncologist.”

“Yeah, let me just reach into my back pocket and pull out a hundred grand to pay for that. Thanks, Dr. Nixon, but I don’t got the time nor the money for something like that. Has anyone told you how much nurses are paid?”

Nixon waves his free hand. “How many times have I told you to stop calling me Dr. Nixon? You can just call me Nix, or—”

“How about late?”

They both look over their shoulders to see a scowling redhead. 

“Dick, come on. The coffee line up was longer than yesterday. Who the hell gets coffee at six in the goddamn morning?”

Dr. Richard Winters looks at the both of them and the coffee cups in their hands. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Okay, other than me. You know Eugene has his own special blend at home because it’s the fancy stuff—”

“It’s from Seattle, and it’s the best I’ve ever had—”

“Case in point. Besides, if I’m late and I’m walking ahead of you, what does that make you?”

“I’ve been here since two. Don’t try to pull that on me. I just had to look at a CT scan and I’m coming back to deliver to the news. Good news, in fact.”

Eugene tries to smile, but he turns his head back around as the two doctors bicker over the lack of CT scanners available. Two is just not enough, apparently. Eugene’s never considered them a poor hospital, they’re lucky to have what they have, so he keeps his mouth shut. There’s no sense in arguing with the two most senior people he knows in the oncology department.

As they walk into the cancer ward, they all wave a good morning to the nurse who’s receptionist for the day, and wheel their way into the doctors office. Eugene closes the door behind them and they each part ways to their respective desks, which are just across from each other.

 

“What’s our day look like today?”

“Not too busy. We lost Mrs. Olson yesterday, so we’ve taken her off for today’s treatment.”

“What?” Eugene looks up, watching the two men sip their coffee. Mrs. Olson had to be one of the sweetest souls Eugene had known, and he had looked forward to seeing her today. He grabs a chart off the side of Dr. Winters’ desk and looks at the scheduled chemo treatments today, and frowns when he sees her name scratched out with a clean line.

“Heart attack, last night. Two in the morning. I’m sure her family’s secretly relieved, she was going through so much.” Dr. Nixon’s voice is so nonchalant, and honestly Eugene shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s sometimes difficult to wrap his head around watching Dr. Nixon do his morning crossword puzzle while talking about the death of a patient. 

“Hey come on, I can’t imagine anyone being relieved.” Dr. Winters narrows his eyes at Dr. Nixon, and Dr. Nixon merely shrugs before returning to his paper. “She was a good woman.”

“Don’t go getting emotional on me this early in the mornin’, Dick. I ain’t ready for it yet.”

Eugene takes that as a cue to leave and quietly slips out the door, letting it close with a soft click behind him.

After doing his morning checks on the patients, Eugene realizes that he’s forgotten his water bottle and heads over to the sink. As he fills a paper cup, a man walks up beside him, holding a small teacup.

“Sorry, mind if I get in there?”

Eugene nods and steps aside, scanning the guy for a moment. It’s habit, to quickly access anyone who interacts with him to find hints of cancer. He’s been surrounded by the disease for so long, and he’s always curious to see how far people are along in their treatment when he’s here. Gauging by hair, skin colour, and their movements, he can always tell if they’ve started, if they’re halfway, or if they’re almost done. After all, it’s his job.

But this guy, his cheeks are flushed and his auburn hair is cut in a way that almost makes him look childish. Eugene watches as he fills the teacup, sipping from his own paper cup with daisies on it.

“My ma, she refuses to drink out of anything else here. Brings her own teacup. Well, asks me to bring it ‘cause she can’t reach up to the cabinets anymore.” Eugene can hear the heartbreak in his voice — but then again, who isn’t in the cancer ward without a hint of heartbreak in their voice? Other than him and the doctors, and sometimes, even they’re not immune.

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you.”

The man looks at what Eugene assumes to his mother, frail and small, leaning over, clutching a blanket. Before the man can say anything in return, Eugene grabs a bucket from under the sink and pushes it into her lap — and just in time, as she throws up with a coughing fit. 

“Hang in there, ma’am. You still got another…” Eugene looks at the medication levels and squeezes her shoulder with a soft touch. “Another half an hour. You can make it through this. You got a kind son lookin’ out for you here.” He looks at the auburn haired man and smiles, genuine and warm. 

After she wipes her mouth, she manages a shaky smile. “Edward’s one of a kind, even though he has three brothers and a lovely sister.” She motions for Eugene to lean close and he does so, watching Edward look at them out the corner of his eye. “He was always my favourite.” She gives Eugene’s shoulder a little tap and leans back into her chair, wincing with her movements. “Where’s my manners? Name’s Betty, but they call me Dot. Why? I don’t really know, but it’s far too late to ask.”

“Eugene Roe, ma’am.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Eugene.”

Eugene takes the bucket from her, and takes it to the dirty room, leaving it for the cleaners. He notices that they’re a bit late on taking out the dirty towels and frowns. Next cleaner he sees, he’s waving them down. They haven’t even started the day yet, and they’re behind? Eugene sighs.

—

There’s a film playing at two for those who can stand the stimuli, and Eugene steps by to see what’s playing. It’s a war time film, one he doesn’t recognize, but he catches small glimpses of it as he moves around the cancer ward. He notices that Dot and Edward and sitting together, watching through slitted eyes. Edward’s eyes flutter open and closed, heavy with fatigue, while Dot seems to move in and out of a state of pain. 

Edward falls asleep on Dot’s shoulder, and she closes her eyes, the sound of gunfire quiet in the background as other audience members watch with intense eyes. Eugene finds a blanket and brings it to the two of them, draping it over their laps. Edward stirs, his eyes opening to catch a glimpse of Eugene pulling away.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, closing his eyes again.

Eugene nods, even though he knows neither of them see it, and steps back.

He wonders for a moment, what it would be like to bring his own mother in for treatment and to stay with her every day. The thought tugs at his heart, and he takes a moment to breath as he starts to make the rounds, checking on patients undergoing treatment. 

The best he can do is make everyone comfortable. If he can’t do that, what good is he?

When Dot’s awake, she beats Edward at a game of chess while Eugene walks by, doing his rounds. He's folded all the clean linens for the beds, and he's ahead of his day. Dr. Winters and Dr. Nixon are locked away in their office, filling out the miles of paperwork that they seem to accrue each week (though Eugene would never say it out loud, due to his laziness Dr. Nixon always has more). 

He finds himself drinking his fifth cup of joe for his shift, leaning against the kitchenette for the patients. The hospital he works for has a fine cancer ward, seeming more like a home than a sterile room for people to hurt in. Perhaps it's one of the reasons he doesn't mind his job so much, though it has its ups and downs. This week, it's definitely more up.

"Do you have any pets?"

Edward's voice scares him, makes him jump the tiniest bit, and when he looks at Edward, the man's got a bashful smile on his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya."

"No, no, it's good. I got a lot on my mind." He doesn't really, but it seems like the right thing to say.

"I can only imagine. The job, it's gotta be stressful. I work at the whiskey distillery downtown. It ain't bad, it gets me by, but it sure as hell seems like a stroll compared to this."

Eugene shrugs, eyes on the ground. A moment of silence passes between them, and Edward clears his throat. Eugene looks up and Edward points at the coffee maker behind him, and he immediately moves out of the way.

"Sorry."

"We're just an apologizing mess, aren't we?"

"I have a cat."

"A cat? Huh. Don't surprise me."

"Why?"

"You seem like a cat person. Except for, well, the lack of hairs all over your scrubs."

"I work in a hospital. They need to be clean."

"Uh, yeah. I figured. I was joking."

Eugene manages a small smile. 

"I like cats. They're mischievous little shits. We always had some growing up. Actually, my ma used to have this cute calico named Margret, which was named after her mother, because Margret - the cat - was such a bitch." He quickly looks over his shoulder, grinning. "Her words, not mine. She was definitely not fond of her mother. I don't think they liked each other very much."

"Right."

"I'm sorry that I talk too much. I ramble when I get nervous."

It's nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes the family members who bring the patients are more nervous than the patients themselves. It's all about reading the situation, and keeping it in control. 

"It's okay. You mother seems great."

"She's amazing." The conversation stops there. Edward fills his cup, raises it in a little cheers to Eugene's mug, and walks back over to his mother. Eugene stares after him, looks at his own mug, and adds a little bit of sugar.

—

A month goes by and he starts to look forward to his visits to the cancer ward. He orders a medium sized black coffee for himself and Edward, and stands in the elevator with a smile.

Just as the doors are about to close, a hand sticks in and Eugene jumps, the doors making a soft ding in protest. Dr. Lewis Nixon steps in, nodding in acknowledge to Eugene, before turning his back to him. As the elevator rises, the scent of booze begins to fill the enclosed space. Cheap booze, too. Eugene’s all too aware of the aroma from his younger days in college.

He decides not to say anything. It’s never his place to criticize the doctors, even though plenty of nurses take it upon themselves. 

When they walk out, Dr. Winters is standing with his hands in his pocket at the door, a stern look across his face.

Eugene keeps his head down and tries to keep his nose out of their conversation. From what he can see and hear, Dr. Winters sounds curt.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls last night and you reek of booze, Nix. What the fuck is going on?”

“Kathy wants the fucking dog. It’s my dog!” Dr. Nixon snaps at him, and Eugene remembers seeing a tiny french bulldog sitting in the back of Dr. Nixon’s car one day, little black head sticking out of the back window of the Mercedes. “But whatever. Kathy always get what she wants.”

“I’m sorry Nix—”

“Yeah, you must be real fucking sorry.” And with that, Dr. Nixon moves with heavy steps into the doctor’s office and shuts the door behind him. Dr. Winters looks at Eugene, who gently lifts his head, as though coming out of the trenches. 

“Sorry you had to hear that, Gene—”

“It’s okay, Dr. Winters—”

“Please, call me Richard—”

“It just don’t feel right callin’ you by your first name.” Eugene shrugs again and turns on his heel, making his way to the chemotherapy section of their floor. 

As he steps in, he sees Edward standing at the sink, shoulders heavy. On the other side of the room, Eugene can see Dot, head sagged down, book held loosely in her hands. When Edward sees him, his head perks up.

“Hey, Eugene!”

“Hi, Edward. How’s your mother today? Also, I got this for you.” Eugene holds out the extra coffee, and Edward takes it with a grand smile.

“Shucks, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Hey, you picked up mine last time. Can’t help but repay the favor.”

Edward takes a small sip, mulling over the bitter taste with a dash of vanilla before he nods in acceptance. “Ma’s doing… hm, she’s a fighter, that’s for sure. She isn’t sleepin’ well anymore. Well, she hasn’t been sleeping alright for a while now. But I think the chemo, it’s makin’ things worse. She throws up a lot at home, it’s hard to keep anything down.”

“Yeah, it can do that. I’ll talk to the doctors and see what we can do about some anti-nausea medication. Keep her meals light, alright? You better not be makin’ her fried chicken, or a cream pasta. Hell, that sounds so good right about now.” He thinks of the ham and cheese sandwich in the staff fridge that was left there yesterday.

“Trust me, as her only son who knows how to cook, I think she’s thankful for anything I give her. I swear, my brothers are lunks with peas for brains. My sister, she ain’t so bad.” Eugene chuckles at this, leaning against the sink counter. He eyes the room, making sure nothing requires his immediate attention.

He notices Dr. Winters speaking to the daughter of a patient, her eyes welling with tears. 

Dr. Nixon is sitting with a younger male, tubes in his arms, and the patient laughs, a smile cracking his pale face. 

It's good, what they do for people. It's good. Eugene tells himself for the millionth time.

It's good.

After his shift, he falls asleep in the break room. His next shift starts in four hours, and he needs the rest. Food can wait.

—

“I cut my hand, Doc.”

“Really?” Eugene looks up from his stew to see Edward holding out his hand, a bright red gash across his palm. “How the hell’d you do that?” And Eugene’s already placed his cold food down on the snowy ground, med kit in hand. He’s low on bandages, and he rummages through, but an old blue handkerchief is folded at the bottom. He pulls it out, looks at Edward’s bleeding hand, and rips it into shreds. They're close in the trench, with the inky blackness of the sky seeming closer than it really is.

“C’mere.” Eugene pulls him closer, ripping open a small package of antibiotic powder. He starts to bandage his hand when he realizes that Edward’s shaking. “You doin’ alright, Edward?”

“No. I just got news.”

“News of what?”

“My ma’s dead.”

Eugene drops his hands and stares at Edward, who begins to weep. He presses his face into his hands, keeling over, whole body in tremors. Eugene stares and tries to open his mouth, but can’t find the words to say.

—

Eugene's eyes flutter open, the room a muddled mess as his eyes adjust. Someone's turned off the lights and closed the door. A small smile graces his lips as he stands, dragging himself out to the coffee machine. He doesn't even know what day of the week it is. But it's okay - it's good.

—

They go for a walk around the perimeter on Eugene’s break, and it’s nice to take a moment outside of the hospital to decompress with someone who’s not going to bitch about patients or bodily fluids.

They, or mostly Edward, talks about his upbringing, the busy household of five children and the difficulties of school. How he dropped out and went into carpentry before enlisting in the army. He was able to take leave in order to care for his mother — but as soon as it’s all said and done, he’s to return back to his post in Mississippi.

When he asks about Eugene’s past, Eugene shrugs as he infamously does, and takes a swig of from his water bottle that he's finally remembered to bring. “It wasn’t much. I’m here now, and I sure as hell don’t miss the Louisiana weather.”

Edward bumps their shoulders together playfully. “You seem like you’d be a fish out of water here in California.”

“It’s where my ma wanted to be. She passed last year.”

“Shit. Sorry to hear that.”

A shrug.

“It is what it is.”

“Cancer?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Just the way you look at my ma.” Edward picks at the label on his juice, eyes cast downwards. “Like you want to save her, or somethin’. Sorry if that’s too personal.”

Eugene stops walking, and Edward looks at him with an apologetic frown. “Really, I’m sorry—”

“Hey, Eugene!” 

Ahead of them, Webster squashes his cigarette under his sneakers and Leibgott follows behind him. 

“Who’s this?” Webster motions to Edward, who reaches out a hand to shake. Webster follows through, but Leibgott seems more focused on the cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Edward Heffron. His ma is Dot, the one with the harlequin romance novels that she powers through during her chemo sessions. He’s here for support.”

“Well, that sure makes you one hell of a guy. Can’t say I’d do the same for my mother.”

“Your mother’s dead.” Leibgott mumbles, taking a long drag and blowing it behind Webster’s head. Webster coughs and waves the smoke away with a scowl.

“Aren’t you just a colloquial little ass.”

“That’s why you keep me around, right?” Webster rolls his eyes and gives a little wave before they pass by. Eugene eyes Leibgott until he pulls out his cigarette and tosses it on the ground, squishing it under his boot. He wipes his hands on his apron and follows behind Webster.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that everyone isn’t more like you.”

“More like me?”

“Quiet. Reserved, but not distant. Probably everyone patient’s favorite. Ma’s, for sure.”

“Hm.” They walk with small chit chat around the hospital until they come back to the doors, and Eugene’s break is close enough to finished. 

They get into the elevator, and Eugene enjoys the sudden lapse into silence. Today’s been nothing other than quiet, and he’s slightly glad for Edward’s company and how the man completely steers the conversation.

“Thanks for the company today, Edward.” He feels like he should say something about it, even if it’s not his usual place to do so. 

“You know, you can call me Babe.”

“Sorry?” He looks at Edward, raising an eyebrow without even realizing it. Babe chuckles, his cheeks turning a soft pink.

“My friends, that’s what they call me.”

“Oh. Sure. Uh, Babe. Yeah, okay.”

Babe turns and smiles at him, and it’s so humble that Eugene feels his heart drop into his stomach. Good thing he’s at a hospital.

“Do you maybe want to go for coffee or something?”

“You’ve brought me coffee. We have coffee in—”

“Not there, silly.” Now Eugene’s new nickname is apparently silly. Silly and Babe, what a combination. The moment Babe says silly, Eugene can see the man regrets it, and his cheeks flush a soft pink. “I mean— yeah, I know. But somewhere away from there. Don’t you hate it?”

Eugene thinks for a moment if he hates the cancer treatment ward. Thinks about all the miserable, suffering people trying their best to get through this horrible God given disease that they didn’t deserve. No one deserves to suffer like that. Then Eugene thinks of the families together, the people that come visit and sit with the patients who have no one, the constant subtle aroma of flowers that he catches sometimes; either from someone passing or an ounce of hope that this will be just another bump on the road. He thinks about the puke he cleans up, about the tears that he’s tried his damn hardest to put to rest. 

“I hate it.” Babe cuts the silence, looking down at his shoes. Eugene looks at him, lips pursed. He’s not sure how to answer the question. “I hate the smell, I hate the way my mom acts before I take her. I hate how she vomits throughout the night after every session. It’s fucking poison, man. I hate that this happened to her.”

And there it is. What Eugene sees on a daily basis, right in front of him, and he’s trying his hardest to not let it get to him. To keep that emotion at bay, but it comes on through. It stings. He’s been warned about these kinds of relationships, and he really shouldn’t take Babe out to coffee but a part of him wants something that he can’t really have.

“Let’s go for coffee. Next Tuesday? Here, I’ll give you my number.”

Babe looks at him like he’s made a breakthrough. A big grin cracks across his face, and he throws his hands up in a little mock celebration.

“He gives in! Alrighty, I’ll let you pick the place.”

“You might regret that.”

“I don’t think I will. I’ve already gotten through the hard part.”

—

“You look like a sheepdog.” 

Heffron’s laughter is stifled by the bullet in his side, and he clenches his teeth as he knocks his head back. He’s started to shake at this point, and Roe’s got his hand on Babe’s shoulder as he starts to rip though his jacket. It doesn’t take him long with the trauma scissors to get to flesh, bloodied and bruised.

“Easy, easy.” Roe looks at him, feeling a pang of guilt. Even though he manages to push it down, it always comes back to him later at night. “It’s just a flesh wound, it’ll take me just a second.” He’s no surgeon, but they’re too far from any sort of medic. He can’t just let the bullet stay and he has no doubts on his skill at this point in the war. Far too many men have thanked him through gritted teeth. “And I do not look like a sheep dog.”

The bullet, in one piece, comes out and as Roe drops it in the metallic dish, Babe glances at it. “Keep it. I’m keeping that thing with me until the very end.” He lets his head drop on the cot, and Roe raises an eyebrow, but takes the bullet and pockets it.

As he begins to stitch Babe up, he finds that his mind doesn’t wander. Each stitch goes through with steady hands and tight skill, threading through flesh as though this is secondhand nature. It’s usually not like this, if he’s truthful with himself, and Babe’s whimpering has gone to a dull chatter as the pain meds begin to kick in.

He’s grateful for the small veterinary clinic in this town, and he can hear Guarnere on the other side of the door shouting something he can’t quite make out.

There’s an itch in his eye and he rubs at his cheek, realizing too late the blood he’s smeared. Babe’s eyes flutter over to him and he lifts his hand, reaching out to touch Roe’s cheek as he leans back in to close the small wound. His fingers brush against Roe’s cheek and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver — just ties up the end of the thread and snips the excess string off.

“You’re beautiful, Doc.”

“You think sheepdogs are beautiful? You’re a funny guy, Heffron.”

“Babe. Call me Babe.”

Roe smiles and wipes off the remaining blood. He bandages him, watching as Heffron stares at the ceiling.

“You feeling okay, Babe?”

“Just wonderful.”

—

Eugene wakes with a start, a flash filling the room. He sits up quickly, thunder rolling moments after with a roaring boom. He can feel his heart hammering in his throat, and he leans over, plucking the string for the nightstand lamp. The room illuminates in a soft yellow glow, and Eugene rubs at his eyes, pressing his back against the cold brick wall behind his bed. Sighing softly, he leans into it, tilting his head back and exhaling. 

They really have to stop showing WWII movies in the daytime. 

Glancing at the clock, it reads 3:07am. 

He peels himself out of bed, floorboards creaking under his weight as he makes his way to the windowsill. Looking at the small potted succulent, he smiles fondly before casting his gaze out onto the alley, seeing nothing but the rain smattering against countless dark puddles. 

They agreed to coffee today at 10am, on a day where Dot plays bridge with her friends and Eugene doesn't work. It's odd, separating what brings and keeps them together and putting it off to the side. Eugene's not even sure what they can talk about. 

 

He spends the next several hours flip flopping around in his bedroom. He closes his eyes, tries to sleep, but it doesn't come to him. Eugene sprawls out on the couch, turns on the TV, but finds his eyes growing heavy; nothing is on at this hour of the morning. 

Ace is curled up in the bed sheets, sleeping. Even she doesn't want to awake at this time in the morning.

He starts the day again; breakfast, shower, the bus ride. The skies are grey and he’s feeling a little drained. Tomorrow’s his day off, and he absolutely plans on doing nothing. It makes him smile, thinking of sitting on the couch, reading, with Ace next to him.

The thought gives him enough energy to get through the day.

—

When he looks at the schedule for the day on Dr. Nixon’s desk, he’s noticed Dot’s name is crossed out. He looks up at Lewis, pointing to it. 

“Sorry, kid. Passed away last night.”

He stops seeing Babe at the hospital. Doesn’t receive a text. It’s okay, he knows how it goes. It’s over. He was merely a stop in between, a momentarily hold in a miserable part of Babe’s life. But he’s been released of it, and Eugene is grateful for it. On one of the days, Eugene notices Dot’s teacup by the collection of paper cups near the sink. He stashes it in his locker because no one else is allowed to use it. 

Except he doesn’t feel that grateful. They didn’t even manage to go for coffee.

He walks out into the main foyer, and an old time war movie is playing on the TV, but no one’s paying it any attention.

It’s quiet today, and Eugene decides to have lunch with Liebgott and Webster.

They go down to the cafeteria, and while the food isn't that bad, Eugene feels his stomach turning as he picks at his sandwich. Liebgott and Webster are spitting at each other, debating the uses of classical literature in school systems, and while Eugene likes watching the two of them go at each other, it feels off. 

He usually plays mediator, but this time, he holds back - watches the temperature rise between them. In a fleeting thought that begins to repeat through his mind, he wonders if Babe has gone back to Mississippi already. Eugene would have already left if he were him. 

His ears start to ring and before he can even recognize it himself, he's passed out.

—

"I mean, it's a good place to be to pass out." Dr. Lewis Nixon's voice trickles in, and Eugene opens his eyes to find himself laying down on the table in the break room. Webster and Liebgott are standing in the corner of the room, both with worried expressions. Dr. Richard Winters is here too, with resident ER doctor, Dr. Ronald Speirs standing beside him.

"What... am I doing on on the break room table?" 

Dr. Speirs looks at Dr. Winters, and they both grimace. Dr. Winters is the one to answer him.

"It's the shortage. We... couldn't get a bed for you."

"Ah. Makes sense." Eugene starts to sit up but Dr. Speirs pushes his hand against his chest.

"Son, when's the last time you had a full meal and a night of good sleep?"

Eugene furrows his brows, racking his brain for the answer. He rueful look is all Dr. Speirs needs for the man to give Eugene a small smack on the head. "You're discharged. Go home. Get a fucking meal in you. Get a full night of sleep." He looks over to Dr. Winters. "You're not short staffed, so why is he working like you are?"

"I asked for the hours, sir."

Dr. Speirs gives him with a look that could kill. It often scared the hell out of patients. "Get rest. That's an order.”

"Yes sir." 

"And here." Dr. Speirs slaps him a juice box, and Eugene looks embarrassed as he takes out the straw and begins to drink. When he leaves, he walks out cringing with his shoulders hunched up as he listens to Ronald Speirs ream them out.

As he sits on the bus home, contemplating how he let it get so bad, his phone buzzes. He takes it out and sees Edward’s name, and he’s pleasantly surprised.

_‘meet me for coffee today? 6pm? habit?’_

He immediately shoots off a text, saying that he’ll meet him there and he’s left wondering if this is a good idea or not — but if Babe hasn't left yet, then he needs to take him up on this before he goes. He misses their daily chats.  When he gets home, he drops his bag and climbs into the shower, scrubbing himself down from the day. When he steps out, fatigue takes over and he sets an alarm, giving himself enough time to crawl into bed and have a nap.

—

It’s snowing heavily, so much that Eugene can hardly make out out anything in the distance past his trench. He can hear the enemy shouting across the border, and he can hear someone shouting about how they’ve lost their boots.

The cold sinks into his bones, and he’s shivering, trying to get his bearings.

Before he can shout, Edward hopes into his trench and pulls him down. The dirt is frozen, and it’s one of the most uncomfortable places he’s ever been, but Edward is telling him about the winters back home and it’s suddenly not so bad.

Everything seems to fall away as he watches Edward animatedly talk, hands exaggerating movements, and Eugene smiles softly.

And they hear a gunshot. And another.

“Ma!” Edward starts scrambling out of the trench, but Eugene holds him back, grabs the back of his jacket and fights to keep him safe in the trench.

—

When he awakes to the alarm, he drags himself out of the comfort of his sheets, startling Ace, and gets dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. 

The place isn’t too far away, and Eugene finds himself with enough time to walk on down.

When he gets to the coffee place, he sees Edward through the glass walls, sitting near an array of plants that hang from the wall. When Eugene steps in, he sees Edward raise his head and smile faintly. Eugene points to the til and makes his order of a hot chocolate before sitting down to see Edward.

“Hey.” Eugene’s not even sure where to start.

“Hey.” Edward’s shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are red and puffy, with dark circles underneath them. Eugene knows the look all too well, having seen families struggle through treatment.

“How was your day?”

“It was, uh, alright. I was sent home early, hence me being able to meet up with you?” Eugene looks up to see his hot chocolate be put on the counter, and he tells Edward to give him a moment before he gets up, grabbing it and adding cinnamon to the top at the top up station. He returns, and Edward sips from his coffee, looking out the window.

Eugene looks too, and he notices it’s snowing. In March.

“Weird.”

“Why were you sent home early?”

Eugene shakes his head, returning his gaze back to his cup. “Just not feeling the greatest—” He feels like an idiot saying it, considering what Edward’s going through, but he asked.

“Ah, shit. Sorry for dragging you out here—”

“No. I came out here because I wanted to see you.”

"I'm going back to Mississippi once the funeral's over."

And at that moment, Edward covers his face with his hands, shoulders shaking, and Eugene quickly stands. He leans down to hug Edward, and Edward stays still, still trying to cover his crying face.

“Babe, it’s going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“You called me Babe.” It’s said through blubbering crying, and Eugene smiles slightly, giving him another squeeze before he pulls away, and Babe is wiping his face with his sleeves.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

“Do you want to get out of here? I feel like an idiot crying in public—”

“Let’s go. My place is a short walk from here. That okay?”

Edward nods and they leave their mugs, half full, on the table.

“I got your ma’s teacup in my locker at work. I figured you might like that."

“Yeah. Yeah, I would. Thank you.”

Eugene smiles at Babe, and Babe smiles back.


End file.
